


Vows

by impilii



Category: The Course of Honour - Avoliot
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, Pining, Ritual Diplomacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 12:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impilii/pseuds/impilii
Summary: In a slightly different Iskat, Kiem and Jainan are called upon to complete a diplomacy ritual that brings up bad memories for Jainan.





	Vows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caracalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/gifts).

In the courtyard Jainan spun his quarterstaff in graceful arcs. The steam from his breath created a haze around him that glimmered in the early morning light, faint clouds that kissed his bare arms. 

The hiss of the door startled Kiem into nearly spilling his coffee down his shirt. 

“Good morning, your highness.” Bel handed him a napkin from the sideboard. “I see the new routine continues.”

Kiem wiped up the drip. Yeah, he had gotten into the habit of watching Jainan’s quarterstaff practice before breakfast. It was just that whenever they were in the same room, Jainan was almost preternaturally attuned to the slightest bit of attention. Kiem’s eyes on him for more than two seconds was inevitably met with Jainan’s inquiring expression, Jainan turning the conversation toward Kiem’s interests, Jainan shifting to the edge of his seat as though he was ready to spring into action at Kiem’s word. 

When he was practicing with his quarterstaff he was in his element, intense, focused. He was somehow more present, fully occupying the space he was in in a way that he rarely did in daily life. He was—beautiful. Outside, Jainan spun to a halt, moving through slower stretches. Kiem grimaced, feeling like a creep, and gave up the stain on his sleeve for a lost cause. 

Bel clapped him on the shoulder for a moment. “You are married, you know. It’s okay to find your husband attractive.”

“Even when he’s your widowed husband who has been forced into marrying you after the tragic death of his beloved life partner? And has a less-than-zero desire to interact with you on a romantic level?”

“Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself,” Bel said. She bit her lip, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Besides, I’m not sure—“

The door chimed again, opening for Hren Halesar, chief press officer. That was unusual. There were no major press events approaching.

“Kiem,” he said. “Problem.” 

Kiem racked his brains for what it could be. “Problem? We’ve done what you asked,” Kiem said. “No extra rooms, no politically fraught statements. I haven’t fallen into any more canals—you could say Jainan’s been a good influence on me.”

“Oh, it’s not that. Looks like things have been going well enough on that front.” Hren waved the press folder at him, letting Kiem read the headline. _Newlywed Royals Hit Slopes Again—Prince K Racing Toward True Love?_ Two images accompanied the article: one of the more flattering shots from the wedding and a candid from one of their trips to the ski slope. Someone had caught them at the base of a hill, Kiem doubled over with a stupid grin on his face, Jainan in profile leaning towards him, the corner of a smile visible. 

Kiem was pulled between fondness for the image and a flash of irritation. One thing he had learned about Jainan was his anxiety around the press corps—if Jainan had known there were paparazzi on the hill, he’d never have relaxed enough to enjoy himself.

“It’s a treaty issue,” Hren continued. “It really should have been done with the wedding, but some fucking philosophers over in legal decided to debate it to death before letting us know it might be an issue.”

“What?” 

The garden door opened, and Jainan walked through. His slightly damp shirt clung to his chest. 

“Caught both of you, good,” Hren said. “The issue is the Vassalage ceremony. You and Jainan need to complete it.”

Kiem felt like someone had struck him over the head with a quarterstaff. He’d never seen a Vassalage ceremony in real life, but they featured pretty heavily in a certain subset of holodramas; old-fashioned royal romances that leaned into decidedly unmodern dynamics. Kiem was vividly reminded of the furtive month he’d spent as a teenager watching one particular vid scene over and over: vassal kneeling with red-painted hands bound together, total love and trust on his face as he drank from a chalice in his lord’s hand and tilted up his head to receive his lord’s kiss. 

Jainan rubbed the palm of his hand and ducked his head a little, but his reply was approaching firm. “I performed the vassalage ceremony with Taam when I first arrived on Iskat, but my oath was to the Empire. My vow isn’t void simply because I’ve remarried.”

Kiem hid a wince. Of course Jainan wouldn’t want a repeat with him when all it would do was remind him of the lover he had lost.

“You and three quarters of the legal department would agree,” Hren huffed. “But Unification Day is coming and we don’t want even the smallest crack for the malcontents to dig their fingers into.” 

Jainan gave a solemn nod, his almost-objection melting back into acquiescence. 

“We’d like to build on the prevailing narrative.” Hren waved at the headline. Kiem watched Jainan take it in, face impassive. “Go through the variations I sent you. Pick a crowdpleaser and we can get some good press out of it for the lead up to Unification Day. Have your decision to my office by tomorrow morning, and we’ll do the ceremony in the afternoon.” 

Hren double-tapped the table and marched out. 

_True Love?_ blared his unwelcome feelings to the room in massive font. The idea of trying to select the most appropriate romantic script with Jainan was more than he could bear. “So, uh, we can just do whatever you and Taam did,” he suggested, not meeting Jainan’s eyes. 

Jainan’s voice was impeccable. “It was very traditional,” he said. 

Kiem was sure. Dignified, intelligent, graceful—that was practically the dictionary definition for Jainan. He and Taam would have picked a traditional ceremony and performed it flawlessly. Not like the idiot grinning up at him from the picture. 

“I can learn it,” he said. “I may be dumb as rocks, but I’ll memorize whatever I need to.”

Jainan drew a long breath. “As you wish. Bel Siara, I’ll flag the necessary items. It would be beneficial to have time to practice.”

“I’ve got that thing at Education Launch, and then dinner with—“ Lines of stress were tightening around Jainan’s mouth and Kiem felt like kicking himself. Way to inspire confidence that he wouldn’t embarrass Jainan in front of everyone if he couldn’t even take an hour to learn the details. “You know what, Bel can move that. Tonight?”

“You don’t have to adjust your schedule—“

“It’s no issue—“

Bel broke into their stilted exchange. “Great, you’re both free starting at seven. I’ll make sure we’ve got what you need.”

***

The day passed slowly. In the duller moments of his meetings, Kiem’s daydreams bombarded him with images of Jainan staring up at him with dark eyes and shiny lips. There was a conundrum for Bel. _If it’s appropriate to find your widowed husband attractive, is it also appropriate to spend all day fantasizing about feeding him grapes while he swears his undying loyalty to you and the empire for which you stand?_

His imagination ran away with him completely after that—he pictured Jainan smiling at him as he pledged honor and protection in return for Jainan's fealty, Jainan standing at the end of the ceremony and pulling him in for one last kiss. Kiem returned home early after losing the thread of one too many conversations. Bel was a minute behind him, an uncharacteristic jitteriness in her movements as she laid a ceremonial case on the table and fiddled with her wristband.

“Everything okay?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “Only—have you seen one of these ceremonies before?” 

“Yes.” Kiem stuttered a little. “I mean, no. Only in vids.”

“_The Lord and her Lover_ and all those, right? Same.” Bel looked up with a wry smile that faded out quick. “I think there might be some important differences between holodramas and actual ceremonial protocol. You need to read this.”

The datafolder Bel handed over was long, dense text full of legalisms and flowery language about the responsibilities and rights inherent in vassalage. In front of anyone else, Kiem would have been tempted to ask for the highlights instead of struggling through it, but he knew Bel wouldn’t judge, even if it took him longer than a cat climbing a snow bank. 

It was a relief to get to the relatively straightforward stage directions, even if reading about ceremonial kisses in front of his aide didn’t feel entirely appropriate until: “Wait—this is—_‘the lord shall press the blade upon the vassal and draw forth blood’_—this is metaphorical, right? Symbolic, or, or whatever?”

Bel flipped open the case, face grim. “To go along with this symbolic vibroblade, I assume.”

Kiem looked helplessly between her and the knife.

The door slid open behind her, and Jainan stepped into the weighted silence of the room. “I’ve kept you waiting. I’m sorry.” Then his eyes locked on the open case.

“You didn’t,” Kiem said. “Do you need a moment?” Kiem needed a moment. Kiem needed several moments, and maybe a drink, and maybe also to yell at whoever thought this was a reasonable thing to make people do.

“No.” Jainan straightened his shoulders. “I’m ready.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Bel made her exit.

Kiem wished he could follow her as Jainan sat at the table and picked up the knife. Jainan turned the vibroblade over in graceful hands and flicked it on, his competence with weaponry clear. “It’s a tricky tool. It only takes the slightest bit of pressure—” He brushed his thumb over the edge of the humming blade. A drop of blood welled to the surface. “I will do my best to remain still, but it’s easy to go too deep.”

He shut it off and rubbed a line across his palm. Kiem stared in newfound horror at the thick scar that curved across the webbing between Jainan’s thumb and forefinger. That was more than traditional, that was practically medieval. 

“Taam did that to you?” Kiem burst out, feeling sick. “And you’re okay with that? With _me_ doing that to you?”

“The ritual required it. A traditional ceremony demonstrates dedication to the treaty and the relationship.” From Jainan’s tone, Kiem thought that was a quote. 

Kiem swallowed around his immediate objection, the secondary objections that tried to follow and the clearly inappropriate aspersions he wanted to cast on Taam.

“Is this— traditional on Thea?” The last thing Kiem wanted to do was insult his husband’s planetary traditions by telling him he found them barbaric. Well, actually, the last thing Kiem wanted to do was carve up his husband’s hands for the sake of “diplomacy,” but he’d like to steer clear of insults as well.

Jainan just looked faintly surprised. “Vassals don’t exist on Thea in the same way they do in the Empire. I understood the ceremony to be derived from Iskaner sociodynamic traditions around submission.”

“Maybe it was,” Kiem said. Jainan curled his hands closed. He recalled Jainan’s hands from their wedding, elegant fingers covered in splashes of red ink. He imagined them instead shaking with pain and blood, and couldn’t hold back any longer. “But no one does it like that anymore! Because it’s horrifying!” 

Jainan flinched back. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry!” Kiem exclaimed. “Look, I know it makes me cowardly or soft. And maybe you wish I was more like Taam, more dutiful or more military—” 

“I don’t wish that,” Jainan murmured.

“—But I can’t do it, not for duty or for the empire or the press. I don’t want to hurt you, now or ever.” Kiem tapped against the table, faster and faster. “And maybe you don't want to hear this, but when Hren mentioned the Vassalage ceremony this morning, the only thing I could think about was getting to stand next to you and pledge to love and protect you. And I wanted that."

Jainan's inhale was audible. 

Kiem pressed on. "And after tomorrow you can forget I said that if you want to, but can we pick our own tradition? Together?”

The rigid line of Jainan’s spine unfurled. 

He reached across the table and laid a gentle hand over Kiem’s. His dark eyes shone with something Kiem couldn’t identify, but that he knew he wanted to see again. “I’d like that. I think I’d like that very much.”


End file.
